Fall - Part II - TITLE PENDING
by CecilaAlice
Summary: Sherlock returns with every expectation of his life being just like it was, ready to rid himself of the heartache that was missing his Lottie. But now with John about to get married, and Lottie having been out of touch with most of the world around her, it's going to take a little more effort than he thought. DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to own Sherlock or any part of the franchise.
1. Chapter 1

John Watson sat waiting, rather impatiently, in The Landmark of London, right in the middle of the city. He was sipping his wine, doing his best to keep his heart from racing on the rather big night, however his hands shook with nerves and no matter how much wine slipped past his mustached lips they wouldn't stop. It'd been two years since Sherlock took his life and it had taken John that long to finally try and put his life back together, well, at least as much as he could. He picked up the wine menu and examined his options. If he was honest he didn't actually know what he was looking at; champagne was never his specialty.

"Can I help you with anything, sir?" one of the waiters, a tall man with dark curly hair, glasses and a little black mustache, stopped to address him, his French accent came through strong. John thought it made his voice sound a bit pitchy and almost wheezy but he had more things on his mind at the moment than this man's vocal cord problems.

"Hi, yeah, I'm looking for a bottle of champagne." He told the man, glancing over the menu again, "A good one."

"Hmm, well, these are all excellent vintages, sir."

"Oh, it's not really my area, what do you suggest?"

"Well, you cannot possibly go wrong but, uh, maybe if you'd like my personal recommendation." He pointed to one of the choices lower down on the page, "This last one on the list is a favorite of mine. It is, you might in fact say, like a face from the past."

He slid his glasses off his face and John fidgeted in his seat. He was getting more nervous by the second and he downed the rest of his wine in one gulp, "Great, I'll have that one, please."

"It is familiar but with the quality of surprise!"

John handed him the menu, clearing his throat, "Well, surprise me."

"I'm certainly endeavoring to, sir."

The waiter ran off with the menu and John pulled a small, red velvet box from his inside jacket pocket, prying it open with ginger fingers to examine the ring inside. He couldn't believe he was actually doing this, really actually going to do this. He set the box down on the table, turning it every which way; it had to be perfect. With a deep breath he glanced at his watch wondering where she'd gone, just as someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry that took so long." She said, taking a seat across from him. Her earrings dangling about her neck, clearly seen with her blonde hair cropped short and styled in delicate, retro waves. She had a beautiful smile and sly, blue eyes as John hurriedly stuffed the ring box back into his pocket.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Me? Fine. I am fine." He replied a bit too quick, his nerves getting the best of him and they both laughed.

"Now, then, what did you want to ask me?"

He hesitated, "More wine?"

"No, I 'm good with water, thanks."

"Right." He paused and she looked around awkwardly.

"So?"

"Uh, so, Mary. Listen, um…I know it hasn't been long and I know we haven't known each other for a long time."

He stopped and Mary bit her lip, "Go on."

"Yes, I will. As you know, these last couple of years haven't been easy for me. And meeting you," he stopped, holding her gaze before the corners of his moth lifted up in a genuine smile, "Yeah, meeting you has been the best thing that could've possibly happened."

"I agree."

"What?"

"I agree, I'm the best thing that could have happened to you."

John laughed and Mary shook her head, "Sorry."

"Well, no, it's, um, so…" John leaned on the table, "If you'll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um…If you could see your way…"

He sighed and Mary sat giggling, watching him struggle through his endeavors, a stuttering mess. The waiter suddenly came back, a bottle of champagne in his hands, trying his hardest to sell the bottle to John and Mary's eyes went wide, the biggest smile plastered on her face. She bit at her nail, trying her hardest not to burst out in a fit of laughter.

"No, sorry, not now, please." John said, but the waiter continued, completely ignoring his pleas for him and Mary to be alone.

"Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers, suddenly one is aware of staring into the face of an old friend."

The waiter pulled the glasses from his face and John looked up, having every intention of telling to basically fuck off but with one look at the man's face he was rendered speechless. He face fell and he looked at Mary to make sure he wasn't dreaming. His world went silent.

"Interesting thing, a tuxedo." Said Sherlock, "Lends distinction to friends and anonymity to waiters."

Mary was undoubtedly confused and John stumbled to his feet, eyes bloodshot and breathing heavy through his nose like he did when he was upset. Mary was starting to get worried.

"John?" she said, "John, what is it?"

John stared Sherlock in the eyes, tearing himself away to look at Mary, eyes dark and glazed over as Sherlock spoke.

"Well, the short version," Sherlock explained, "Not dead."

There was a short silence while John looked up at him through his eyelashes and Sherlock thinned his lips, "Bit mean springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you ha heart attack, probably still will. But in my defense, it was very funny."

John was shooting daggers at him with piercing eyes, clearly lived and boiling with anger. Sherlock cleared his throat, "Okay, it's not a great defense."

"Oh, no." Mary breathed, staring up at him, "You're…"

"Oh, yes." Sherlock inclined his head to her.

"Oh, my God!"

"Not quite."

"You died, you jumped off a roof."

"No."

"You're dead."

"No, I'm quite sure, I checked. Excuse me." He dipped a napkin into her water, wiping his mustache away, "Uh, does your rub off, too?"

John was unmoving, stiff with anger and Mary looked between the two men frantically, "Oh, my God! Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Sherlock wouldn't lie, he was starting to get the idea, "Okay, John, I'm suddenly realizing I probably owe you some sort of an apology."

John slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the glassware and forcing Sherlock to go silent. Mary was doing her best to calm him down but it seemed he was past the point of help.

"Two years." John said, sucking in a deep breath and exhaling sharply, doing his best to keep calm. Sherlock blinked, taking in John's words, "Two year! I thought. Mmm…I thought…You were dead." Now, you let me grieve. How could you do that? How?"

"Wait," Sherlock stopped him, "Before you do anything that you might regret, one question, just let me ask one question."

John looked at him, reluctantly letting him speak.

"Are you really going to keep that?" he chuckled, gesturing to John's mustache and suddenly John's hands were around his neck, throwing them both back onto the floor. Mary and the staff had to pull them apart kicking and screaming and a few hours later, after having been kicked out of two other places after the Landmark for public disruption, Sherlock stood on the sidewalk outside a small ice-cream parlor with Mary while John hailed a cab. He had a napkin held to his nostrils to try and stop the bleeding from where John had head-butted him a half hour ago in the parlor behind them, accompanied by a cut lip from the diner before that, both results of John's anger after having found out that Molly Hooper and some of Sherlock's Homeless Network knew that he was still alive. Sherlock leaned his head back and held the bridge of his nose.

"I don't understand. I said I'm sorry, isn't that what you're supposed to do?" he mumbled. Mary looked at him with pity in her eyes.

"Gosh, you don't' know anything about human nature, do you?"

"Hmm, nature? No. Human? No."

She smiled, "I'll talk him round."

"You will?"

"Oh, yeah."

He eyed her carefully, taking in everything that he could deduce about her and storing it away. So many words came rolling off of her, some of it got jumbled but he simply stored it away for later. It wasn't important now. He continued to nurse his nose, "I'm glad I didn't go to Lottie first. She probably would've had an anxiety attack."

"Who?"

"Between the three of us, we should be able to stop the attack."

"Three?"

"Sure – me, John, Lottie."

Mary furrowed her eyebrows, "Lottie? You mean Lottie Blakely?"

"Yes, of course. Sure you know Lottie. She must be around John constantly."

The look in her eyes told Sherlock that something wasn't right, "Sherlock, John hasn't seen or heard from Lottie in over a year. No one has. I've never even met her."

Sherlock looked at her, completely taken off guard. The ache that he'd been trying so hard to ignore in his chest, the ache that he was excited to be rid of now seemed to grow even more. What did she mean no one had heard from her? She couldn't be dead, no, someone would've contacted him if she was. John called out to Mary and she scanned Sherlock's face before moving to step into the cab John had called for them. He watched the two of them go, letting his mind run rampant. If Lottie wasn't with John, then where was she?


	2. Chapter 2

Bekah Mills walked up the front steps to her best friend's house without so much as a knock and closed the door behind her. She slipped her shoes off and dropped her purse on the floor next to them, looking around the house and listening intently. She could hear Mrs. Blakely fiddling about in the kitchen, probably finishing up the dishes and the telly was on the living room, probably Mr. Blakely. It sounded like a normal day in this house and she smiled, treading into the kitchen to great Mrs. Blakely.

"Hi, Mrs. Blakely." She said. The red headed woman looked over her shoulder and smiled. She was your average sized, kind old lady, in her early sixties with a few streaks of grey in her naturally coopered colored hair, blue eyes soft and kind but they now had a dullness about them, growing more and more tired over the past two years, but she kept her hopes up.

"Hi, Bekah. How are you?"

"Well, thanks." She put in the kettle to boil, pulling out the milk and sugar for tea, just as she always did around this time. When she'd heard about the incident, and started getting more and more details about what supposedly happened, it didn't take her long to convince Austin that they should move back to England. The Blakely's insisted that she didn't have to do that but they did it anyway. The Blakely's had always been family to them, and they wanted to be there, to help and support in every way that they could. While Austin was at work, Bekah would come over and help around the house and spend some time with the family so when the tea was finished she prepared four cups, leaving one for Mrs. Blakely, taking one into the living room to greet Mr. Blakely and leave him his tea. He was a tall dark-haired, good natured man who meant well, but Bekah wasn't really all that afraid to admit she didn't necessarily agree with his decision.

"Is she painting?" Bekah asked, picking up the last two cups of tea.

"Yes, upstairs."

Bekah kissed her cheek and started up the steps back by the front door, moving cautiously with two full cups of hot tea and not wanted to sneak up on her friend. She reached the top of the stairs and poked her head around the corner into what was once the guest room, smiling when she found Lottie sat cross-legged on the floor, her hair done up on the top of her head and dressed in black leggings and a jumper that fell off of her shoulder, covered in paint from head to toe. She had a large canvas set on a table easel in front of her and a soft smile on her features. Bekah chuckled and Lottie looked up at her, her smile growing.

"Why are you on the floor?" Bekah entered the room and handed Lottie her tea, taking a seat next to her to observe her artwork.

"I like the sunlight. It makes the colors feel warmer." The redhead smiled. Bekah watched her with nervous pride. It had taken them all so long to get her to smile again. Yeah, she smiled, but this, this was real, genuine. Her eyes were bright and her movements sharp and her mind flowing with creativity. For so long she had sat there in the couch, watching the news over and over again, anything that covered the story of Sherlock's death was on the screen, and she would watch with a zombie-like gaze, her whole aura dull and lifeless. Her parents may have brought her back to Doncaster but she didn't stay long. She would frequently take trips back to London, staying with John on Baker Street until her parents couldn't take it anymore. After a year they cut her off, no connection with John Watson, Baker Street, any of it. That's when Bekah had come back, trying her hardest to reason with the Blakely's, trying to make them understand what they were doing. Lottie was already struggling to keep it together with John but without him they would lose her, but they didn't see it that way. They thought it would be for her own good, but their plan had backfired; Lottie had sunk so deep into despair that without John, she couldn't control. What the Blakely's didn't see or understand was that John and Lottie were keeping each other afloat, watching out for each other in this time that no one else seemed to be able to relate to and as soon as they were taken away from each other, it only got worse. John went back into therapy and Lottie had no outlet. John had always been there to coach her through her anxiety attacks and she was there for him to let out his feelings and vice versa. She had all these things that she was keeping locked away; emotions, images, nightmares, all of it had nowhere to go. That was when Bekah had this idea, remembering how much Lottie used to paint and she set out to turn the guest room into an art studio of sorts, filling it to the brim with paints, brushes, canvases, all of it, and once they finally got Lottie in there, it was like she never came out. All of these things just started pouring onto the canvas. For a while it was angry and terrifying: red, images of Sherlock's form lying on the concrete, of Moriarty's malicious grin staring back through the canvas, of Lottie herself drowning. It was all so terrifying that Bekah wondered if maybe this wouldn't be enough but after a few months, it all changed. Paintings of the inside of Buckingham Palace, of 221b Baker Street, of John and Sherlock smiling, of Molly, Lestrade, even Mycroft until it all faded away into simple landscapes and scenes from around the city. All of her older paintings buried among the new ones until one day they just disappeared. Bekah searched all over for them but they were nowhere to be found. No trace of John Watson, Molly Hooper, Baker Street, or Sherlock Holmes found anywhere and Bekah secretly wondered if Lottie had hid them away somewhere, or ever destroyed them. But she never said a word. The only thing left of those years back at Baker Street was the locket that Sherlock had given to her. She never took it off and no one was to touch it. Lottie was perfectly civil as long as her locket was left alone and Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, or James Moriarty were not mentioned.

"Where did you see that?" Bekah inquired, leaning over to admire the piece that Lottie was currently working on.

"Down by the church." Lottie said, holding up the printed photo from her walk the day before, "I thought it was a beautiful building."

"Wow, it is. That's great work, babe."

"Thanks. How are you? Austin at work?"

They slipped into a small conversation, nothing of real importance but it was nice. It was always easy for the two of them to communicate and it was definitely one of the factors that helped Lottie get back to normalcy. After a few minutes Lottie's phone sounded and took the brush that she was holding in between her teeth in her hand, "Would you mind grabbing that for me?"

"Sure." Bekah got to her feet and traveled across the room to pick up Lottie's phone, sliding it open to read the message. It was from a Phillip Anderson, a name she vaguely recognized, but her heart and her mouth dropped, stumbling back at the information that had been sent.

'_#SherlockLives'_

"Bekah?" Lottie leaned around her canvas, "Everything all right?"

Bekah hesitated, "Yeah! Yeah, of course."

"Okay, then who's the message from?"

"Huh? Oh, um, nothing. Wrong number. Listen," Bekah was trying to think fast. Lottie could not know about this, they had just brought her back to life and this would absolutely break her down to nothing, "Um, you're phone is about to die so I'm going to go put it on a charge."

Lottie furrowed her eyebrows, "Really? I just charged it."

"Wow, strange. Looks like you need to get your battery replaced. Oh well, let me just go charge it for you."

She all but ran out of the room, taking the phone with her. This was not going to turn out well.

* * *

After a quick meeting with Mycroft about the case he'd been assigned, Sherlock got straight to work to make sense of the information he'd been given and what he'd already found out himself. Without John and Lottie, he needed something to distract himself anyway, however this case was only bringing him memories of the three of them together. By now, Lottie was the only one who didn't know he was back as far as he knew. He did his best to ignore these thoughts, pushing them into Lottie's room. His mind palace no longer had a red floor, the entire thing had been stained red with the blood of his aching heart working so hard to keep his feelings at bay. She was everywhere, and the harder he worked to keep her locked up, the darker the walls of his palace got, so he simply let her roam. He stood before all of the papers, documents, photos, and maps he'd pinned to the wall above the sofa, finding the common factor in his information, silent and stoic with his eyes scanning the wall.

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson said, peeking in from the kitchen.

"Hmm?" barely any effort was given into his reply.

"Talk to John."

"I've tried talking to him. He made his position quite clear."

"What did he say?"

Sherlock smirked, "Fuck off."

"Oh, dear. Well, what about Lottie? I haven't heard from her in,"

"Over a year." Sherlock interrupted, closing his eyes, "I know."

Sherlock was remembering a few days beforehand, just after the night he'd showed up at the Landmark to announce his return to John, he'd found where Lottie had been staying and made a point to go out and see her. He couldn't stand not knowing she was somewhere safe any longer, but upon his arrival he hid just outside the kitchen window. If John reacted the way he did, he was admittedly terrified of how Lottie would react, especially with her history.

_Sherlock kneeled down under the kitchen window of Lottie's parents' home, listening in on a conversation he believed to be between Lottie's mother and her best friend, Bekah. To his surprise, they were talking about him. His heart was racing._

"_What do you mean still alive?" Mrs. Blakely said, "He jumped off the roof of St. Bart's!"_

"_I know, okay, keep your voice down!" Bekah said, her tone hushed and quiet. Sherlock had to strain himself to hear what they were saying, "Look, we'll just have to keep it from her for a little while longer. Give her some more time before we tell her."_

"_She's not going to be happy about this."_

"_I know, but," Bekah sighed, "Listen, I spent a lot of time bring her back from whatever bad place she went to when Sherlock…jumped, and I know very well that she's still got a lot of things still locked up in that," she stuttered, searching for the right word, "Mind castle of hers or whatever. She's not ready, but when she is, we'll tell her. For now, we keep her in the dark."_

"She just…needs some time." Sherlock explained, obviously pained by the idea. Mrs. Hudson gave him a pitied looked that went completely unnoticed before stepping out of the room. Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket to make a call and thirty minutes later Molly was cautiously entering the room, her eyes scanning the space while Sherlock stood at the window.

"You wanted to see me?" she said.

"Yes." Sherlock faced her, closing the space between them, "Molly?"

"Yes."

"Would you…" he hesitated, finding his words, "Would you like to solve crimes?"

He let his words flow just about the time Molly suggested dinner, turning the situation around to be a tad awkward, but she agreed to help him and they dove right in, taking clients for a majority of the morning and into the afternoon while Sherlock waited on information from his Homeless Network about Mycroft's case. In the early evening Lestrade pulled them away from the flat for a case out in the field on the other side of town. Lestrade took down the police tape and led them down into a basement where the police had set up some dim florescent lights and a few black lights. Sherlock was not afraid to admit his confusion upon entering the scene: a skeleton dressed in a suit, sat at a very old, dust covered desk. Sherlock made a face and pulled out some of his tools to examine what had been laid out for him while Lestrade waited in the corner; Molly stood back to take a few notes, looking up when Sherlock started to sniff the bones.

"What is it?" she said, "You're onto something, aren't you?"

"Maybe." He was having a hard time concentrating. His mind palace bleeding red with Lottie's presence, and now even John was making himself known, distracting him more than helping.

'_Show off!'_ John said.

'_Hush, John!'_ Lottie retorted.

"Shut up, John." Sherlock mumbled.

"What?" Molly exchanged looks with Lestrade.

"Nothing."

Sherlock took a pair of tweezers to lift the skeleton's coat lapel and Lestrade leaned down to whisper to him, gesturing towards Molly.

"This going to be your new arrangement, is it?"

"Just giving it a go." Sherlock replied.

"Right. So, John and Lottie?"

He walked around the desk, "Not really in the picture anymore."

He stood by Molly, taking a view of the bigger picture and a rumbling sound shook the ceiling above them. Sherlock glanced up, as did Molly.

"Trains?" she suggested.

"Trains." Sherlock agreed. He stepped back and squatted to have a look at another angle, folding his hands together, thinking while Molly had a look at the bones.

"Male, 40 to 50." She said. Sherlock stood and approached her and she stepped back, "Oh, sorry, did you want to…?"

"Uh, no, be my guest." He let her examine the bones, fiddling with his equipment, blinking. John and Lottie were running rampant around his mind palace and he could not shake them for the life of him.

'_You jealous?'_ John teased, though he sounded perfectly serious.

"Shut up." Sherlock said through gritted teeth, clearly aggravated. Molly and Lestrade eyed him but they said nothing, continuing to work alongside him.

"It doesn't make sense." Molly said.

"What doesn't?" said Lestrade. Sherlock was blowing the dust off the side of the desk while Molly spoke.

"This skeleton, it can't be more than,"

"Six months old." Sherlock finished for her, pulling open a secret compartment in the desk and retrieving a book from its confinements. He blew the dust off of it and rolled his eyes at the title, showing it to Molly.

"Wow!" she breathed. He smiled and threw the book onto the desk, dust spreading all throughout the room.

"_How I Did It_ by Jack the Ripper." Lestrade leaned over the table with a confused expression.

"Mm-hmm." Sherlock started to pack up.

"That's impossible." Molly wondered.

"Welcome to my world."

'_Smart arse.'_ John said, thought Sherlock was the only one to hear him. Lottie scolded him and Sherlock mumbled, waving the two of them off.

"I won't insult your intelligence by explaining it to you."

"No, please, insult away." Lestrade wore a big goofy grin on his face as Sherlock started to walk away.

'_Sherly, you forgot to put your collar up.'_ Lottie reminded him. He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. Even the voice in his head pained him. He turned back to the scene, shaking her out of his ears.

"The corpse is six months old. It's dressed in a shoddy Victorian outfit from a museum. It's been displayed on a dummy for many years, in a case facing southeast, judging from the fading of the fabric. It was sold off in a fire damage sale a week ago."

Lestrade scratched the back of his head as Sherlock showed him the sale marketing on his phone. Lestrade shook his head, "So the whole thing was a fake?"

"Yes."

"Looked so promising."

"Facile."

"Why would someone go to all that trouble?" Molly asked, getting the question out that had been bugging her throughout Sherlock's explanation. But Sherlock was nearly halfway out the door and up the stairs, calling out over his shoulder back to them.

"Why indeed, Lottie?"

Molly looked down, hurt and confused and Lestrade simply gave her a pitying look before she hurried to follow Sherlock up the stairs and out into the streets of London.


	3. Chapter 3

"Fancy some chips?"

"What?"

Molly watched Sherlock come down the stairs with confused, brain dead eyes. They'd just been to see a man about the security footage on the Tube system, gaining new information on the case that Mycroft had assigned to Sherlock; Molly had been with him all day and if she was honest, she was completely exhausted. How on earth had John and Lottie done this all day every day? Sherlock passed by her and continued on down the hall.

"I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road, the owner always gives me extra portions." He said.

"Did you get him off a murder charge?" Molly followed after him down another set of steps.

"Nope, I helped him put up some shelves." He chuckled and the two of them smiled.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" they stopped at the foot of the stairs and Molly hesitated with her steps.

"What was today about?"

"Saying thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything you did for me."

"It's okay. It's my pleasure." She stepped past him and started for the door but he stopped her.

"No. I mean it."

She turned to him, pulling at her fingers like she always did when she was nervous, "I don't mean pleasure, I mean I didn't mind. I wanted to."

"Moriarty slipped up, he made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the person that mattered the most. You made it all possible."

Molly's lips thinned into a smile and she shook her head, "Thank you, but it's not me who matters the most. You and I both know that."

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows and she glanced away for a moment, collecting herself, "Charlotte Blakely was, and still is, the one that matters the most. She always has and always will be."

Sherlock was quiet a moment, "You can't do this again, can you?"

Molly swallowed, giving an almost convincing smile, "I had a lovely day. I'd love to, I just, um…"

"And congratulations, by the way." Sherlock nodded to the ring on her left ring finger. She smiled, biting her lip.

"He's not from work. We met through friends, old-fashioned way. He's nice, he's got a dog, we go to the pub on weekends and I've met his mum and dad and his friends and all his family. I've no idea why I'm telling you any of this."

"I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it. After all, not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths."

"No?"

"No."

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock took a step forward to kiss her cheek and walked out the door a few feet away from where they were standing. After a beat, Molly followed, pulling her gloves over her hands and pulling her coat closer to her frame to protect her from the cold snow that was falling all around them. Sherlock was already halfway down the sidewalk and for a moment, she watched him go, feeling as if she finally had a bit of closure. She sighed and turned on her heels to go the opposite direction, taking them on their separate ways in more ways than one.

* * *

Lottie listened to Bekah's footsteps fade away all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen, waiting until she was sure that she wouldn't hear her following after her. She carefully set her paint brush down and got to her feet, keeping as quiet as possible till she was standing just outside the kitchen where Bekah and her mother were speaking very animatedly about something. Lottie kept just out of sight, listening intently to the conversation to be had and contorting her face into confusion.

"What do you mean still alive?" her mother was saying, "He jumped off the roof of St. Bart's!"

"I know, okay, keep your voice down!" Bekah scolded, her voice quiet and hushed. Lottie stood shock still, mouth agape. She was having a hard time hearing them, holding her breath so as better to hear their low voices, praying that they weren't saying what she thought they were saying. She leaned over as far as she dared, eavesdropping on their continued conversation.

"Look," Bekah continued, "We'll just have to keep it from her for a little while longer. Give her some more time before we tell her."

Lottie couldn't believe her ears. Her eyes darted every which way and her brain was running a million miles an hour. Her mother's voice brought her back to reality and she swallowed, no longer to hold her rigged breathing.

"She's not going to be happy about this."

"I know, but," Bekah sighed, "Listen, I spent a lot of time bring her back from whatever bad place she went to when Sherlock…jumped, and I know very well that she's still got a lot of things still locked up in that," she stuttered, searching for the right word, "Mind castle of hers or whatever. She's not ready, but when she is, we'll tell her. For now, we keep her in the dark."

Fast footsteps made the women's eyes go wide and they whipped their heads around towards the sound, realizing that Lottie had been listening in the entire time. Bekah cursed under her breath and started after the redhead with Mrs. Blakely in two just behind her, but it was too late. By the time they got up the stairs and into Lottie's studio, her window was open, allowing the cold wind to give the curtains a gentle wave, and Lottie was nowhere to be found.

* * *

John stood in front of 221b Baker Street, gazing up at the ominous door with trembling hands. It was early in the afternoon, he'd just finished lunch, and he looked around nervously. He couldn't believe he was actually doing this, after everything Sherlock put him through, he was about to open up the door to his old life, his old ways, and let this man back into his life. He took a deep breath, prepared to reach for the door knob when a man walking down the street bumped his shoulder, forcing him to stumble back, and continued on without so much as a "pardon". John eyed him.

"Excuse you." He said. The man looked back at him with dark eyes but didn't stop or say a word. John rolled his eyes.

"John!"

His eyes widened at his name, called out in a familiar voice; one he hadn't heard in a long time. He turned and saw none other than Lottie running across the street towards him and he immediately felt joy in his heart after missing his favorite redhead for so long, but one look at her face and he knew something was amiss. He furrowed his eyebrows as she called out to him in a panicked tone just as someone took him from behind, jabbing a needle into the side of his neck. He tried to fight him off, the sound of Lottie's protests ringing in his ears, but before too long, whatever is was that was in that syringe was pumping through his veins and he could hear his heartbeat slow until he was lying on the concrete unconscious.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock paced his living room, gathering his thoughts with his fish n' chips in hand. He hadn't been home long, still in his coat with his scarf and gloves in place. He could hear Mrs. Hudson piddling downstairs just as there was a knock at the door and the landlady stopped what she was doing to answer it, a familiar voice traveling up the stairs when she did.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson. Sorry, I think someone's got John."

She pushed passed Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock flicked his head towards the stairs where Mary was trotting up to him with worried features.

"Hang on, who are you?" Mrs. Hudson called. Mary stopped for only a second to answer her.

"Oh, I'm his fiancée."

"Mary?" Sherlock stepped out into the hall light as she came up the stairs, "What's wrong?"

"Someone sent me this." She stood next to him, pulling out her phone, "At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, but it's not. It's a skip code."

Sherlock eyed her suspiciously, but looked at the message she held out for him to see.

'_Save souls Now!_

_John or Charlotte Watson?'_

"First word, then every third. 'Save John Watson'." Sherlock observed, blinking his eyes at the appearance of Lottie's name. He stored it away for later information as Mary scrolled to the second half of the message and held it out again:

'_Saint or Sinner?_

_James or John?_

_The more is Less?'_

"Now." Sherlock muttered, his eyes growing wide as he let his food fall from his hands and hit the floor, taking off down the stairs with Mary in tow.

"Where are we going?" Mary called as they made it outside into the pouring rain.

"St. James the Less, it's a church. Twenty minutes buy car. Did you drive here?"

"Yes."

"It's too slow, it's too slow." He paced up and down a few feet of the road, his mind reeling, going over maps and traffic stats in his head.

"Sherlock!" Mary called out to him and he ran over to her form bent over in the small garden next to the front door. John's phone was in her hands and she looked up at him. He took it from her and read through the missed notifications of the past few hours, finding fourteen missed calls from a Bekah Mills. There was also a voicemail, and Sherlock held the device to his ear to listen.

'_John! It's Bekah. Please pick up. Lottie's gone, I can't find her anywhere. I've got her phone. Please, please, John, help me find her. I'm getting really worried.'_

Bright lights blinded them, recklessly pulling up to the curb of Sherlock's flat and the two of them shielded their eyes from the light. A petite figure scrambled out of the car and ran right up to Sherlock, frantic and scared. He took one look at the girl and he knew exactly who she was; her eyes were staring up at his, brimming with determination. He swallowed, doing well to hide his fear as her name escaped his lips.

"Bekah."

"Please, you've to help me find her." Her voice was an alarming rate of calm, telling him that she was beyond scared. Something wasn't right, something was in fact very, very wrong. He sucked in a breath and started to pace the road, narrowly escaping getting hit by an oncoming car. He stopped just in front of her and she flinched.

"Have you received any messages?"

"No." She shook her head in confusion.

"Sherlock, what are we waiting for?" Mary exclaimed. He whipped his head around and narrowed his eyes.

"This." He held out his hand to stop two motorcycles heading right for them. Bekah cringed, waiting to be run over but she was surprised to find the two of them stopped a few inches from her toes. She looked up at Sherlock and he lowered his hand to speak with the drivers, persuading them to let him borrow their motorcycles and he handed out helmets to the two girls, "Mary, you take one and head straight for St James the Less church. Bekah, you come with me."

Mary was quick to take orders, hoping right on the bike and speeding away while Bekah looked around frantically, scared and confused, but Sherlock urged her with a demanding tone and she clambered onto the bike behind him. He was hurriedly searching through his phone for something and she looked over his shoulder to see him typing something into a GPS system. Did he even know where they were going? They were wasting time and he was fiddling with a GPS?

"What're you doing?" Bekah questioned just as he finished. He looked up gripped the handlebars and took off without warning, forcing her to grab around his middle so as not to fall off, taking a sharp turn a few blocks away from his flat.

"What is the GPS for?" Bekah yelled over the wind. Sherlock glanced back at her for only a moment.

"I put a tracker in the necklace that I gave to Lottie for Christmas almost three years ago. This will lead us to exactly where she is."

Bekah's phone buzzed and she pulled it from her coat pocket, reading over the new message, one from a number she didn't recognize.

'_It's very cold her, Mr. Holmes_

_You don't have much longer'_

She leaned over and held out the screen for Sherlock to see and he glanced over it, picking up speed at the words on the screen.

'_It's getting colder…'_

Sherlock glanced at Bekah's screen just before they were forced to stop at the traffic jam up ahead. He cursed, quickly darting through the cars and continuing to follow the GPS. He was getting anxious as he whipped the bike around the corner and down a few flights of stairs, into an underground tunnel as a shortcut. He pushed up the stairs on the other side and another message came through:

'_Better hurry_

_You're freezing, Mr. Holmes'_

And another after that:

'_You're in an icebox.'_

These messages weren't making any sense. Sherlock looked down at his phone, finding that they were just around the corner from their destination. He made a sharp turn and the Westminster Cathedral suddenly came into view; he stopped the bike and the two of them jumped off and started for the church, but there was no need to. Bekah stopped him, bringing his attention to none other than John Watson now sitting up on a bench a few yards away. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, looking down at his GPS screen, which, according to the screen, Lottie should be standing right in front of him.

"John, are you okay?" Lottie said as John tried to shake himself of the fog in his head. He seemed to be coming out of a drugged sleep and having a hard time with it.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." John insisted, "Where's Lottie?"

Sherlock looked up at him, "What're you talking about?"

"Those men," he coughed, "They drugged me, and Lottie was there."

Something suddenly clicked in Sherlock's mind and his whole stature fell. The texts to Bekah's phone, John seeing Lottie just before he passed out, Lottie's name in the skip code texts, it all made so much sense, "John, check your pockets."

"What?" John was still blinking away the confusion.

"Just do it, John." Sherlock was running out of time and patience. If Lottie wasn't here, then she was definitely in danger and he needed to find her, and quick. John fumbled with all of his pockets, not coming up with anything for a few agonizing seconds but after a bit of searching he furrowed his eyebrows, pulling Lottie's locket from inside his coat. Sherlock swore under his breath, immediately going straight to his mind palace, searching the quickest way back to St James the Less church.

"What do we do now?" Bekah helped John to his feet and Sherlock's eyes popped open, rabid with some sort of plan and he ran to hail a cab from the main road. When one pulled up he ushered a still hazy John into the back seat, directing the driver to the church, and once it drove off he picked up the bike he and Bekah had ridden there and started it back up again. Bekah had learned quick not to question and slid her helmet over her head to jump onto the back of the bike, taking off back the way they came and after a few minutes of riding Bekah received another message from the same number:

'_Getting warmer Mr. Holmes_

_You have about ten minutes'_

"What does it mean? What are they going to do to her?" Bekah called.

"I don't know."

'_8 minutes and counting…'_

'_Better hurry_

_Things are heating up here…'_

Message after message was continually being sent, driving Sherlock's determination to go faster with every vibration of Bekah's phone, and when his own phone buzzed he really started to panic. It was a message from John's phone, still in Mary's possession.

'_GET HERE NOW'_

Another message on Bekah's phone:

'_Stay of execution_

_You've got two more minutes'_

They took another shortcut through a back alleyway and when they came out the other side, just outside of the church, they were greeted by a large group of people surrounding an extremely large, unlit bonfire. Mary was waving her arms at them, begging them to hurry and Bekah's phone sounded once more; Sherlock tore his eyes away from the scene to look at her screen.

'_What a shame Mr. Holmes_

_Lottie is such a lovely girl'_

"What does it mean?" Bekah called. Sherlock contorted his face in confusion and looked back to the bonfire just as it was being lit and his eyes went wide in terrorized realization.

"Oh, my God!" he pulled the cycle to a stop and the two of them jumped off as the wood went up in flames, a little girl's scream sounded a few yards away near the fire and Sherlock took off into the crowd with Bekah just behind him, shoving people out of the way and calling out to Lottie till his throat was sore. Once they were close enough to try and pull her out they could hear Lottie calling out for help and Sherlock dove right into the flames, throwing pieces of wood out of his way. Lottie was coughing and reaching out to the voices calling her name until Sherlock was finally able to grab hold of her and pull her out, dragging her far from the fire and kneeling down to hold her in his arms. Bekah was there next to them, pushing Lottie's hair out of her face to reveal a large gash just above her temple where blood was trickling down the side of her face.

"Lottie? Lottie!" Sherlock was holding her face, but she wasn't responding, at least not at first. She was groaning in pain and she was trying to open her eyes, but the dizziness was so overwhelming. The people around them had stopped their festivities and were watching with amazed eyes at the scene unfolding before them. Lottie forced her eyes to focus and they fell on Sherlock with a glazed look, clearly still feeling the effects of whatever drugs she'd been given. She breathed his name, wheezing horribly, trying her hardest to stay awake and conscious but it was so hard.

"You're alive." She coughed out.

Sherlock shushed her, "Come on, let's get you someplace safe."

She felt him lift her into his arms and they started to walk away towards the cab where John was still struggling to keep consciousness in the back seat and Mary was there with him, ready to help; however it didn't take Lottie long to black out, sick and injured, but cradled in Sherlock's arms.


	5. Chapter 5

_Lottie opened her eyes, barely strong enough to hold them open, allowing the little bits of moonlight to shine through the cracks of her prison. She was dizzy, and her lungs felt like they were full of dust as she gasped for air, feeling numb and terrified. She couldn't even sit up, no matter how hard she tried her body was paralyzed, feeling like the weight of an elephant was sat on her chest, keeping her from moving. There was a ringing in her ears as she stared to panic, panting without seeming to be able to fill up her lungs with enough oxygen, searching for a way out, a way to the surface. She felt like she was drowning and for a moment she could've sworn she heard his voice._

"_**Deep breaths, Charlotte. If you don't your brain won't get enough oxygen and you'll pass out."**_

_There was an indistinct chatter outside, but it sounded so far away. She tried to scream but her vocal cords weren't functioning. She was trying so hard to move, to breathe, but she couldn't; the ringing in her ears going in and out as anxiety and claustrophobia both set in. She gasped for air just as a man's voice outside caught her attention. She strained to call out for help as drops of liquid splattered onto her face through the cracks; she protested as the sound of cheers also brought heat, searing heat and she was finally able to force a sound from her dry throat._

"_Help!"_

_There was a scream from outside, a little girl's and she rolled away from the heat; feeling scared and alone. But the faint sound of her name spiked her hope as she panted for air at the familiarity of the voice._

"_Charlotte!"_

_No, there's no way. He was dead._

"_Lottie!" His panicked calls slipped though the crackling fire and she coughed._

"_Help!" she reached out towards the moonlight as it got brighter and someone grabbed her, pulling her away from the heat and rolling her onto her back once they were safely away. She panted, breathing in the crisp, cool air of the night, filling up her overheated lungs. It hurt like hell, but she was alive._

"_Lottie? Lottie!" _

_Someone was holding her face and her head lulled into their touch, feeling so out of it. IT was hard to pen her eyes, but when she did Sherlock was inches from her, with Bekah just next to him._

"_You're alive." She muttered, barely able to speak._

"_Lottie, wake up." Bekah was saying, "Lottie, you have to wake up!"_

Lottie's eyes popped open and she bolted upright in bed, pain shooting through her entire body. She looked around and found herself back in her bedroom at her parent's and Bekah was sat on the bed next to her with pitied eyes. She looked at the clock, discovering how early in the day it was and furrowing her eyebrows. She slept through the night. She still felt a little hazy but she remembered; she remembered sneaking out of the house, trying to save John from that man on Baker Street, getting attacked and Sherlock saving her from that bonfire.

"Sherlock." She muttered in realization. She looked up at Bekah, "Where is he?"

"What're you talking about?" Bekah said.

"Sherlock, he pulled me from that fire. I know he did. Where is he?"

Bekah glanced away and stood up, standing by the window and peeking out onto the street, "You must've been dreaming, Sherlock, he jumped off that roof. Committed suicide."

Lottie eyed her, throwing her covers to the side and swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, "Yes, but now he's back, and you know he is. You've known since yesterday morning when you came to my house."

Bekah didn't say anything and Lottie looked around for her phone, spotting in on the in table on the other side of her bed. She reached over to grab it and scanned through the messages. She had a few unimportant unread ones, but there was one from Anderson yesterday morning that had already been read.

'_#SherlockLives'_

"Why didn't you tell me?" she said.

"Because I knew you would do exactly what you did." Bekah sighed and turned to face her best friend, "Lottie, you don't know what we had to do to keep you here, with us."

Lottie furrowed her eyebrows, "But Bekah, I was here the whole time."

"No, Lottie, you don't understand. We were so scared, you were so distant, so locked away inside your own mind. That was not you that came back that day."

Bekah took a seat next to Lottie as the redhead processed what she was being told. She folded her hands in her lap and Bekah waited patiently for her to speak, just as she always did.

"I don't understand." She finally breathed.

"Come on. I want to show you something."

Bekah stood and started for the door and Lottie followed close behind, being led back into her art studio where Bekah stepped around the piles and piles of art supplies, paints, brushes, canvases, all of it to reach a large cabinet with a padlock around its handles that Lottie didn't think she'd ever really noticed before. Bekah reached into her pocket and pulled out the key to unlock it, urging Lottie over. She complied just as Bekah pulled open the large door to find hundreds of sketches and paintings of all kinds. She pulled one of the paintings out and let her eyes scan over its delicate strokes, not remembering ever having painted it, the picture of Sherlock sat at the kitchen table back at Baker Street, leaned over a telescope from the point of view from his chair, where Lottie sat most often. Lottie shook her head in confusion.

"This was one of your more mild ones." Bekah said.

"What are these?" Lottie looked around the canvas in her hands to scour the cabinet.

"This was the only thing that seemed to work. After we took you from Baker Street, and John started in on therapy again, we tried to find something like that for you, but we knew you'd never go to therapy. The only person you would talk to was John, but that wasn't helping either of you, it only made it worse, so we set this up for you, here, so you could express yourself the best way you know how."

Lottie pulled out some more of the paintings. Bekah was right, the more mild ones were at the front, probably a precaution in case she ever opened it she wouldn't see some of the more gruesome ones in the back. She noticed a pattern: most were memories, cases she'd worked on with the boys, but the further to the back she got, she found more and more of the day Sherlock had jumped. His body lying unmoving on the concrete, his face bloodied and eyes frozen in shock after death; Sherlock stood atop the roof from her point of view on the street; John sat across from her in the living room on Baker Street. They were all things that she saw, vivid images of what she remembered. There were even sketch books full of his face, both dead and alive, and even some of John. Happy, sad, all of it. This was her feelings poured out from her fingertips. There were a few of Lestrade, of Molly, but the more she looked through them, the more the memories came back, memories she'd pushed out of her own mind-castle, things she'd kept locked away for almost two years. She looked up at Bekah who'd been watching her with a sympathetic smile.

"You did all this?" Lottie said.

Bekah nodded, looking around the room, "Yeah, it was the only thing I could think of that might work, which actually was the only thing that would work."

Lottie was feeling so overwhelmed, unsure what to think or say. She swallowed and let her legs fold under her, looking over all of the images laid before her. Bekah took a silent deep breath, knowing how hard this was for Lottie; she laid a hand on her shoulder, letting her know she was here but she got no response.

"I'll give you some time."

She left Lottie alone with her thoughts, taking one last look through the crack in the door before pulling it closed, leaving Lottie to try and pick up the pieces of her broken self. Bekah had done all that she could, picked up the pieces that she could. Now it was up to Lottie to try and put them back where they belonged.

* * *

John trotted up the stairs to his old living room with every intention of speaking with Sherlock. Last time he was slightly interrupted, but this time, no, he was going to give him a piece of his mind. He turned the knob to open the door to his old living room and was greeted by Sherlock standing on the couch in front of a wall full of pictures, documents, and other papers pinned to it with an elderly couple, each sat on either side of him.

"John." Sherlock seemed surprised he was there and returned to the floor, adjusting his wardrobe.

"Sorry, you're busy." John said.

"No, no, no, they were just leaving." Sherlock helped the woman to her feet, ushering her towards the door, forcing John to step out of the way.

"Were we?" the woman asked.

"Yes."

"No, no, if you've got a case," John insisted, but so did Sherlock.

"No, not a case. No, no, no." he all but pushed the couple out the door, quite hurriedly, pulling John into the room.

"We're here till Saturday, remember." The lady reminded Sherlock, who returned with in irritated expression.

"Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out."

"Give us a ring."

"Very nice, yes, good. Get out." He tried to shut the door on them but the lady put her foot in the door stubbornly. Sherlock looked down confused.

"I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock." She said, "All that time, people thinking the worst of you. We're just so pleased it's all over."

Sherlock glanced back at John, who obviously wasn't paying a bit of attention, and he continued to try and shut the door but the woman was having none of it, even with Sherlock's look of exasperation. He thinned his lips in frustration.

"Ring up more often, won't you?" the man put in. Sherlock gave a meager hum in reply, tapping his fingers impatiently on the doorknob and the man leaned in over his wife, "She worries."

"Promise." The lady demanded. Sherlock glanced back at John once more before answering with a confirmed promise, but he drew the line when she tried to caress his face, shoving the door closed and turned to face John nervously.

"Sorry about that." He apologized.

"No, it's fine." John replied, "Clients?"

"Just my parents."

"Your parents?"

Sherlock crossed the room, "In town for a few days."

"Those were your parents?"

"Yes."

"Well." John peeked out the window and chuckled, "That's not what I…"

"What?" Sherlock eyed him.

"I mean, they're just so…ordinary."

"It's a cross I have to bear."

John scoffed, making his way across the room towards his old chair before turned to Sherlock, "Did they know, too?"

Sherlock suddenly found the layer of dust that covered his desk extremely interesting, doing everything to avoid John's gaze, "Hmm?"

"That you've spent the last two years playing hide and seek?"

Sherlock hesitated, "Maybe."

"Ah!" John threw his hands in the air victoriously, "So that's why they weren't at the funeral!"

"Sorry, sorry again!" Sherlock was getting really sick of having to apologize to John over and over again but as soon as his tone left his throat John grew silent, and Sherlock knew deep down that he felt guilt, guilt for leaving, and for leaving the way he did, keeping John and Lottie in the dark. He sighed, "Sorry."

The sincerity of his word rang out in the silence that followed and they both took a deep breath, trying their hardest to move past this. Sherlock gestured towards where John's mustache used to be, "So you've shaved it off, then?"

"Yeah. Wasn't working for me."

"I'm glad."

"You didn't like it?"

"No, I prefer my doctors clean-shaven."

"That's not a sentence you hear every day." John took a seat in his old chair, throwing his gloves on the side table.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock seemed to be picking his words carefully.

"Yeah, not bad."

Sherlock was honestly expecting a little bit more but when John said nothing, he debated on his next question, one that'd been torturing him since the bonfire, but it escaped his lips almost against his own will, "And Lottie?"

John scanned his features before answering his question, "She's fine. A bit, uh, smoked, but recovering fine."

Sherlock let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, "Right. Good, great."

John watched Sherlock's composure relax for only a second, letting his mind run rampant with all of the questions he had for this man, choosing to stick with the simpler route for now. He would get into the more complicated questions later, "Last night, who did that? And why did they target me and Lottie?"

Sherlock swallowed, "I don't know."

"Is it someone trying to get to you through us? Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?"

"I don't know, I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous. Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That's what's strange."

"Give his life?"

"According to Mycroft. There's an underground network planning an attack on London, that's all we know." Sherlock approached the wall above the sofa, holding his arms out in display, "These are my rats, John."

"Rats?" John turned to face him in his seat.

"My markers, agents, low-lifes. People who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normally but the sixth," he pointed out the only photo left that wasn't crossed out with a permanent marker. John furrowed his eyebrows.

"I know him, don't I?" he said.

"Lord Moran, Peer of the Realm. Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the Establishment. He's been working for North Korea since 1996."

"What?"

"He's the big rat, rat number one. He's just done something very suspicious indeed."


	6. Chapter 6

"Yeah, that's odd. There's nowhere he could've got off?"

Sherlock had John take a look at the Tube security footage he had collected with Molly a few days beforehand, standing over him as he watched, hoping he'd see something that the rest of them were missing but so far, no such luck. John was just as stumped as the rest of them.

"Not according to the maps. There's something I'm missing. Something starting me in the face." Sherlock said, pacing the room.

'Come on, Sherly, it's not as clever as you think it is.'

Lottie made an appearance once again and this time he made no attempt to shoo her away. Her voice, no matter if it was in his head or not, was comforting to him. He turned back to his wall, examining all of the evidence once again when his phone sounded and he pulled it from his pocket, sorting the new photos received from his homeless network into his mind palace.

"Any idea who they are, this underground network?" John asked, "Intelligence must have a list of the most obvious ones."

John went on to list some of the major terrorists that they knew of but Sherlock ignored him, scrolling through the photos on his phone till he came across a photo of Lord Moran and he smirked, "Our rat's just come out of his den."

He closed his eyes, ignoring John's questions, and retreated to some of the more shallow parts of his mind palace. Lottie was there, stepping onto the penultimate carriage of the Tube, smiling to the security camera through which Sherlock was watching the scene unfold. He furrowed his eyebrows, glancing over to the next screen where Lottie then stepped off the last carriage, leaning on the doorframe.

'_Come on, Sherly, you're so close!'_ she said. Sherlock had a closer look as she pointed up at a sign above her head that read St James' Park and he came out of his palace, glancing down at his phone again when one of his homeless network had sent him a photo of the same sign.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, "I've been an idiot, a blind idiot!"

"What are you on about?" John said.

"Mycroft's intelligence is not nebulous at all, it's specific, incredibly specific."

"What do you mean?"

"It's not an underground network, John, it's an Underground network!"

"Right…what?" John's eyes followed Sherlock as he jumped and strode around the room, nowhere near understanding what Sherlock was talking about.

"Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you in the face." Sherlock rewound the Tube footage back to when the train took off, "Look, seven carriages leave Westminster. And only six carriages arrive at St. James' Park."

"But that's impossible." John's eyes were glued to the computer screen.

"Moran didn't disappear. The entire Tube compartment did. The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage."

"Detached it where? You said there was nothing between those stations."

"Not on the maps, but once you eliminate all the other factors, the only thing remaining must be the truth. That carriage vanished, so it must be somewhere."

"But why, though? Why detach it in the first place?"

"It vanishes between St. James' Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. Lottie is kidnapped and nearly bunt to death at a fireworks party."

'_Remember, remember.'_ Lottie's voice echoed in his head and he turned to John.

"What's the date, John, today's date?"

"Um, November…" he paused in realization, an unbelieving smile creeping on his face, "My God."

"Lord Moran, he's a Peer of the Realm. Normally he'd sit in the House. Tonight there's an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism bill. But he won't be there, not tonight. Not the 5th of November."

"'Remember, remember.'" John quoted.

"'Gunpowder, treason and plot.'"

* * *

'_With many commentators saying the vote on the Terrorism Bill will be too close to call, MPs are now making their way into the chamber for what the Government is calling the most important vote of this parliament. Over now to our-"_

Bekah switched off the living room TV where Lottie was sat with her knees to her chest, dressed in leggings and an oversized jumper – one of John's he'd lended to her so long ago, after the fall. She'd found it locked away with all of her paintings and threw it on after taking a shower. Bekah stood next to her, both of them staring at the blank TV, completely silent. Bekah bit her lip nervously; Lottie hadn't said much after she'd left her alone in her studio and now she was actually out watching the news, something she hadn't done since they were covering Sherlock's suicide. She didn't seem angry or upset, but that's what scared her, she looked blank, empty. Bekah took a deep breath and Lottie finally sliced through the silence with her words.

"That's what he's doing, isn't he?" she said. Bekah glanced at the silent TV, nodding her head.

"And John? Is he alright?" Lottie asked.

"Yes, he's fine. Home safe and sound."

Lottie merely nodded her head in understanding before getting to her feet and grabbing her coat, starting for the door. Bekah stepped out of the way, extremely confused, and followed after her.

"Where are you going?" she called.

"Out." Lottie replied, just before the door clicked shut behind her and Bekah was left with no earthly idea of what to do.


	7. EXTREMELY SHORT HIATUS FOR FINALS AT UNI

**Hiiiiiii! :D**

**So I may or may not have forgotten to mention my VERY SMALL hiatus for this particular story. I'm nearing the end of the semester at uni and I've got finals coming up so I won't have much time to be writing. But it should only be about another week and a half! So don't fret! I'll be back!(:**

**Thanks so much for reading! Stay beautiful!**

**-MM xx**

**[will delete this when i post the next chapter]**


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